


Second Best

by ElwritesFanworks



Category: Happy Days
Genre: :'(, Angst, Double Drabble, Drabble, Dysfunctional Relationships, First Time, Heartbreak, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, One-Sided Relationship, Sad, Sexual Experimentation, Substitution, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Teenage Drama, Teenagers, Unrequited, Unrequited Crush, poor potsie, well this is SAD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 04:39:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11844117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElwritesFanworks/pseuds/ElwritesFanworks
Summary: Richie and Potsie learn that second best is never good enough.





	Second Best

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sad idea I had simmering in my head for a while. Poor Richie. Poor Potsie. Poor, poor Potsie.

* * *

Richie knows it’s wrong.

He knows it’s wrong even before he starts doing it for real – back when it’s just a sticky adolescent daydream getting him riled up. It’s bad enough to be real gone for another man – to keep straying from thoughts of soft, smooth skin and perfume and high-pitched voices to thoughts of dark hair and practiced hands taking control. Really, it’s all pretty low, but somehow it’s still worse when he imagines the solution and thinks, _‘yeah, and I bet he’d let me, too.’_

He’s not sure how he knew he wouldn’t get hit, proposing it the first time. It’s all done without words, though he sets the scene with a bit of stolen whiskey for courage. He calls him his best friend, lays it on thick, reminisces about the wild times of freshman year, when they were closer, before the current problem had even come to be. One minute he’s talking and the next it’s gone all quiet, and he’s an inch away from his target, heart in his mouth and all his confidence missing.

It's easy, kissing him.

He tries not to think about the guilt after, and he buries it successfully, until he doesn’t. Until he sees Fonzie loitering by his bike with his tongue down a pretty blonde’s throat and feels that sick pull of jealous heat in his belly. Until he goes back to his solution. Until it happens again, and again, until it’s a pattern that he can’t see a way out of.

He needs a way out. He needs it because his hands are shaking and he’s gone up to bed without dinner, feigning sick. He can’t face his parents – he can’t face anybody. There’s nail marks on his back and his ears are ringing because they’d gone too far – farther than the fumbling and petting, farther than the messy kisses and touches traded under the bleachers. They’d gone all the way and in the heat of it, he’d let the truth slip, carelessly, from his lips.

_“Fonzie…”_

And Potsie’d looked at him in horror, and had froze.

* * *

Potsie knows it’s wrong.

He knows it’s wrong even before he wishes for the first time, innocently enough, that things were more like they were in freshman year. He likes Fonzie – how could he _not,_ a guy that cool? – but he misses it, the days when he was the first person Richie’d call. For anything.

Maybe that’s why he lets it happen, the first time. Maybe because he feels like he’s finally trusted with something Fonzie isn’t, this ephemeral, dangerous thing. Maybe because he senses he’s wrong, all fear and bitterness, and it’s his one chance to take what should be his. Maybe… maybe just as punishment. For Richie. For himself. For both of them.

It's easy, kissing him.

He tries not to get his hopes up after, and pretends he’s happy with his one moment in the sun, because that’s more than some people get, isn’t it? But really, he doesn’t ask for much in life, and it hurts more than he thought it would, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t wish that it was more than a one off fueled by curiosity. He tries not to get his hopes up, but the second time he’s summoned is like ointment on an open wound, and the brief respite is addictive. Being favoured, finally, is impossible to resist.

But now it’s spoiled. All ruined, because his eyes are puffy and he’s scared to go home, where his parents will see the pain in his face and ask questions. He can’t stop hyperventilating. He can’t seem to get enough air. There’s a hickey on his collarbone and he’s limping, throbbing low in his back because they didn’t know what they were doing – gone too far too fast. They’d gone all the way and in the heat of it, he’d let the truth slip, carelessly, from his lips.

_“I love you…”_

And Richie’d looked at him in horror, and had run.


End file.
